Happy 2nd Birthday Baby Girl

Today's Lily's second birthday. It's hard to believe two years have gone by already. It seems like so much has happened since then and that day was so long ago... yet, it also seems like it just happened.

The weather today was exactly as it was the day Lily was born. It was in the 50s and partly sunny. There were big, puffy clouds that were a mixture of gray and white. Then there were bursts of sunshine that would warm the air just slightly, but it was still too chilly to go without a jacket. I found myself looking at the sky a lot today because it was so similar to May 9, 2010.

Her birthday this year feels harder than last year's. I think because I knew last year would be difficult. I was prepared for it. We planned around the inevitable sadness. And people came out of the woodwork to support us. To help us through the first anniversary of losing our little baby girl.

This year I felt blindsided by the sadness. I was shocked at the bouts of sobbing that would physically hurt. I just felt too exhausted to do anything. And it felt lonely.

The day wasn't completely sad. Lily's baby brother Dexter brought smiles. He also must have known Mommy needed extra hugs because the normally squirmy little boy stayed to cuddle with me this morning. After a late morning nap, he babbled and babbled. Although we have had balloons for Lily's birthday in our living room since Saturday, today was the first day since we got them that he's paid attention to them. When he'd see me in the kitchen he'd start crawling towards me while still holding onto them. I'm hoping she was with him today in some way too. Maybe in his dreams they got to play together.

My husband and I had a special dinner after Dexter went to bed. Then we ate cupcakes - the same kind we had last year for her birthday from the same bakery that did our wedding cake. And then we released three of the balloons - one purple heart and two white balloons - with a happy birthday message.

Happy Birthday to my sweet Lily.  Mommy loves you and misses you very much.

In Another Life...

The other day a song by Katy Perry came on the radio- "The One That Got Away." This song is about high school sweethearts who don't make it, but for some reason when I listened to it, all I thought of was Lily. And these verses hit home to me:

Never planned that one day

I'd be losing you....

In another life

I would be your girl

We'd keep all our promises 

Be us against the world

In another life

I would make you stay

So I don't have to say

You were the one that got away

I've been really down lately. I've been wanting another life.  A life where I don't have to answer questions like: "Is Dexter your first?" or "So now that pregnancy went fine, so when are you going to have another?" One where I don't continually ask myself questions to which there are no answers like: "What was the point of getting pregnant with Lily?" or "Why didn't I know how to save her?" or "Why did that woman's baby girl live and mine didn't?" or "Why aren't you feeling better about this yet?"

One where I'm not a bereaved parent. My normal is just normal not the "new normal." One where I don't have to feel guilty if I don't say I was pregnant once before. One where I can say I have another baby at home. My little girl. I didn't lose her. She's still with me.  One where I don't have to wonder if I'll have another daughter, or fear that Lily was my only chance at raising a girl.

A life where I don't have to remind myself not to be disappointed when people don't remember Lily's birthday this year. Or don't donate as much in her memory or join us for the March for Babies event this year. 

One where I don't have to live in constant fear that Dexter's going to die on me too.

I just want it all to be different. Not entirely different though. I want aspects of my current life. My husband can stay of course. I wouldn't trade in Dexter. I'd take a different job. I'd be happy with a different car or house. But really I just want one big thing.

I want Lily. Living and breathing and here with me and my boys.

I want a life where Lily's an active 22 month old girl and Dexter's his curious 4 1/2 month old self. And I'm filling up albums on Facebook of my two beautiful kids and posting about how crazy life is with two little ones.   In another life, maybe it could have been that way.

Here We Are Again

Two weeks ago, I had a great day. It was the kind of day I haven't had since before Lily died. I was happy.  All day. I wasn't stressed out. I wasn't anxious. I wasn't sad. I wasn't angry. I was just happy. About everything and everyone. I even thought about Lily and didn't feel sad or cry. It was a good day.

So yesterday came as a shock to me. I woke up and didn't want to go to work, but did anyway. On the way there, it dawned on me that it's almost been a year since we found out about Dexter. A year ago today actually I got the positive pregnancy test. The day after the Packers won the Superbowl.

Then I realized it's been two years since we found out about Lily.  In a few days it'll be two years since our first ultrasound confirmed her existence. Two years since I found out about my abnormal uterus that would take her from us too soon. Two years...

And for some reason I haven't been able to stop crying. It's not even her birthday. It's not an anniversary of any sort really. So who knew I'd be back here again? Who knew I'd be crying this hard again? It's supposed to get better. Why, after so many steps forward, does one step back send me so far back it seems no progress was made.

Yesterday I was ready to move.  I had that feeling so many times after Lily died.  Just move. To Hawaii actually. Just pack up my husband and Dexter and go. I'd wait tables. That'd be okay if it meant I could escape this life. Escape the reality of being a bereaved parent. Just go somewhere where no one knows and I don't have to tell them.

Of course, you can't out travel grief. The sadness would follow. And how could I not tell people about Lily? Still, wouldn't it be wonderful to just live without the sadness for a while?

I'm assured by many that I will be happy again. Many people in the world who've experienced horrible tragedy go on to lead happy lives. I just have to be more patient...

I'll always wonder...

The other night while I was holding Lily's little brother, Dexter, I was studying his little face. He has his daddy's dimples. He has big blue eyes (for now at least!). His hair is blonde like his daddy's too, but in some lights looks red like his grandpa's. Then there's his nose. A cute little button nose. A nose like his big sister's.

I pulled out Lily's pictures to be sure. Yep. They have the same nose. What other similar features would they have? Would you have been able to tell they're siblings?

I'll always wonder what Lily would have looked like at one month old. At six months. At one year old. Five, ten, sixteen, eighteen...and so on. I'll always wonder what color her eyes would be. They were still fused shut so we never got to see them open. I'll always wonder if she got her daddy's dimples ... my greatest hope was that she would get that cute smile from her dad. And I wanted her to get Grandpa's red hair. Would she have been tall? Would she have big feet like me?

I'll never know and I'll always want to.

Another Christmas without Lily

We're in the midst of another holiday season without our daughter.  For some reason I thought it'd be easier, but I'm finding some days it is and some days it isn't.

Last year the holidays were unbearable. I wanted to skip Thanksgiving and the entire month of December and go straight to January. And January's my least favorite month of the year! Normally, I decorate the house on December 1st; but last year, I didn't decorate at all. We decided late in the season to get a tree but agreed it had to be an ugly one. We half-heartedly decorated it.

The only reason I wanted a tree was so that we could get ornaments for Lily. But even that was hard. I couldn't go shopping for them because all I could see was "Baby's First Christmas" everywhere. You have no idea how many ways people commemorate "Baby's First Christmas" until you lose a baby. Those items were all I could see when I went to the mall or department stores. So I couldn't buy an ornament, because I couldn't shop for one without crying my eyes out.

I admired all of my friends in our local support group who could find the positive and honor their babies in different, uplifting ways during December. I just couldn't do it. I was exhausted from grief and really just plain sad. I didn't really want to do anything but hide away until it was all over.

This year, we have Lily's little brother, Dexter. I really want to make his first Christmas special, even if he's too young to remember and completely unaware of the season. I thought with a new baby - to buy all those "Baby's First Christmas" memorabilia for - the holiday season would be better. Easier. To a certain extent that's true, but every now and then it hits me. Lily would be 19 months old tomorrow, December 9. This Christmas, she could open her presents from Santa. She could get some candy in her stocking. This Christmas was supposed to be awesome. It would have been even more special because we would be spending it with her new little brother.  I'd have two little ones to prop up on Santa's lap.

So this year, I decided to do more for Lily. Because we didn't "get in the spirit" last year, I didn't get a stocking for Lily.  Not a real one anyway. I just got a cheap 99 cent one from Walgreen's that is barely bigger than my hand. This year, I decided to go early and find stockings for our whole family. I was happy to find them and a box in which to store Lily's ornaments from this year and last. I checked out ornaments for her and for Dexter. While I was shopping, I felt happy and sad all at once. Happy I was finally getting her a real stocking and solidifying her place in our family; but at the same time sad because she wasn't with me picking out her stocking, picking out an ornament and looking at the toys in the adjacent aisles. After checking out and answering all the cashier's questions about Dexter ("is this your first?" of course...), I went to my car and broke down.

I didn't realize it would be this hard again.

Our local support group has an annual Holiday Remembrance Service to remember all of our babies. Last year's service was a blur. I only remember sitting in a pew crying and crying and then getting a cookie afterwards before leaving quickly. This year I thought it'd be better. It was... until a song, "The Water Lily" was played. It's a song about a young mother dreaming about her dead child. I started crying so hard I was nervous I'd start blubbering. And while last year I brought tissues, and people handed me more, this year I didn't bring any. I guess I didn't think I would need them. My favorite part of the service this year was the gift the group's facilitators gave us. It's a keepsake ornament that says "Always remembered. Always in our hearts." It's a perfect addition to Lily's ornament collection.

Today, Dexter and I had a "Lily Day." My husband and I decided to participate in the "Adopt an Angel" program that the Salvation Army runs in conjunction with JC Penney. I "adopted" an 18 month old little girl. I had a blast shopping for her. She needed clothes and a coat, but also wanted toys. I got her everything on her list. Anytime the thought "this is too expensive" came into my mind, I countered it with "If Lily were here, would you buy it?" The answer was always yes. So I bought it all.  Today, Dexter and I dropped the items off at the Salvation Army. It felt really good. I left wishing I could see that little girl open up the gifts and see her new toys.

Once we got back into the car and started driving away, I turned on the radio and "Butterfly Kisses" was playing. Not even kidding. I started crying so hard I had to pull over. It just felt like Lily was saying thank you.  Again, happy and sad at the same time.

Then Dexter and I headed over to the hospital where both Lily and Dexter were born. The hospital has a "Love Lights" tradition whereby friends of the hospital can purchase a light or string of lights for the hospital's holiday trees in memory of a loved one. My husband and I purchased one for Lily and today was the big lighting ceremony. The proceeds from the lights benefited the hospital's new birthing center and NICU

So, this weekend, we'll start getting the house ready for the holidays. We're picking out our tree. I'll decorate. Maybe we'll bake some cookies. And I'll try to figure out how to handle all the crazy Christmas celebrations with various family members who are anxious to celebrate Dexter's first Christmas. And I hope some remember that while we're happy to show Dexter everything about this season, someone is still missing. And it still hurts.

Happy Holidays baby girl. We miss you more than ever.

Sophie's Choice

After Lily died, I got an e-mail from a friend from high school.  She was sorry to hear what happened and wanted me to know she experienced pregnancy loss too. She told me she miscarried her first pregnancy - in the first trimester - and then got pregnant shortly thereafter. That subsequent pregnancy was successful and she told me that she wouldn't have that daughter now, if she hadn't lost the first. She just couldn't imagine her life without her daughter, so in the end, it worked out for the best. That would happen for me too, she said.

After I got pregnant again this year, I heard more stories similar to that and many comments were made about how I "wouldn't be pregnant now if Lily had lived."

Those comments and stories bother me. They hurt me. I know people aren't trying to make me feel bad by sharing those stories or saying those things. Nevertheless, I'd rather they not say that. I wish they would understand this: I don't want to feel grateful I lost Lily because now I have this new baby. I don't see Lily's death as an "everything happens for a reason" situation. I don't want it to be an "if X, then not Y" situation. I don't want to make that morbid sort of "Sophie's choice" between my children. I want them both.

My husband and I were very thoughtful and careful about our decision to conceive again after losing Lily. Aside from the medical reasons for waiting (I needed surgery to remove the septum in my uterus), we wanted to be sure we were ready emotionally for another pregnancy. We didn't want the second baby to be seen or thought of as a "replacement" baby.

When people tell me that I wouldn't be pregnant now if Lily had lived, I tell them that's not true! If Lily had survived last May, we could still be expecting this fall. Even if she was born at term in September 2010, we still could have conceived again in January 2011. It's possible I would have two living children this fall. More importantly, it's the way I would have wanted it!

My husband and I always wanted a lot of kids. To him that means "a baker's dozen."  To me, it means three... maybe four. Given my age, we always knew our kids would be close in age. I've long since prepared myself that we may at some point have several kids under the age of five.  And we're both okay with that.  And want that.

I don't want to think Lily had to die for this new baby to be in our lives. Our plans had this new baby here anyway - with or without his/her big sister on earth. I don't want it to have to be one or the other.

It could have been - and should have been - both.

X Weeks and Craving....

There's been a lot of chatter in the BLM community about the newest Facebook breast cancer awareness game.  For those who don't know, this is a game in which women change their status to "X weeks and craving X." To be honest, I wasn't all that upset by the game. I didn't necessarily find it insensitive... just juvenile like the "games" from previous years indicating where you like to put your purse or the color of your bra. None of these games truly raises awareness for breast cancer.  They just seem pointless.

This year's game just confused me. I first encountered the update from my younger cousin, who has a toddler and has been constantly talking about "missing having a little baby." Hers read, "I'm 18 weeks and craving Hershey's Kisses!!!" I just assumed she was again bringing up her desire to be pregnant again with the status update. But then her mother, my aunt, who is past menopause posted something similar, "I'm 13 weeks and craving gummy worms."  My sister-in-law, a fellow BLM, was also confused and asked her what was going on. Then we all got an email about the game. No one receiving the email played the game.

Again, I wasn't really outraged about it. I didn't feel that they were being insensitive to me or to my sister-in-law who lost our baby girls in the second trimester. That said, it did provoke a lot of thought. I spent days afterwards thinking about Lily and thinking about my current pregnancy (not about breast cancer!).

When I lost Lily, I was 20 weeks and craving oranges, strawberries and Yoplait yogurt. Normally, I'm a Dannon yogurt girl, but for some reason, while pregnant with Lily, I only ever wanted to eat Yoplait. Perhaps Lily had the same tastes as her daddy who prefers Yoplait. I loved oranges. Every afternoon around 3 or 4, I would get this strong craving for an orange. And they tasted delicious. I swear they were the best oranges I've ever eaten. Again, that was a result of Lily because the oranges were certainly not in season. Every night, I would have strawberries and whipped cream. We ate a lot of fruit, but strawberries and oranges were the biggest hits.

After Lily died, the cravings stopped almost immediately. I remember eating an orange the day after her birth/death while still in the hospital, and it didn't taste good.

I was 20 weeks when we lost Lily so I just started feeling Lily move. Her flips and kicks were still too weak for her daddy to feel from the outside, so we were anxiously awaiting the day he could feel her. It was so exciting to feel her and I wanted so badly to share that excitement and joy with my husband. Especially because he would poke my belly and tell the baby to wake up in the morning, and she would poke back. But he never got to feel that.

Currently, I'm 35 weeks pregnant with Lily's little brother or sister. And this entire pregnancy I haven't craved anything... in terms of food that is. The first trimester I could barely eat because I felt sick all the time. Even though my appetite returned during the second trimester, I still didn't crave anything really. And now, during the third trimester, I'm on a modified diet because of gestational diabetes so even if I had cravings, I can't really give into them. I think sometimes my lack of an appetite and cravings is due to anxiety.  Most of the time I just can't figure out what I want to eat, even if I'm really hungry.

My only real cravings this pregnancy are the following:

To just make it another week further in this pregnancy.  This craving and the next have been the only constants this entire pregnancy.

To hear a heart beat every week at our doctor's appointment.

Now that the baby is moving, to feel him/her squirm every day.  And some days it's the only thing I want, especially if the baby isn't particularly active that day.  I've come up with all sorts of ways to get the baby to move to make mommy feel better.  

To make it to the scheduled procedure to remove the cerclage, so I no longer have to worry about going into labor and possibly tearing my cervix.

To hear my baby cry.  I swear that'll be music to my ears.

To hear the doctor say "It's a boy" or "It's a girl" after delivery rather than "the baby has no heartbeat" and the silence that follows those words.

To snuggle a warm, live baby.

To bring my baby home and to watch him/her grow up!

These are my cravings right now. No cravings for candy, just cravings for another life to come into and stay in mine.

I guess after re-reading this entire post, the "breast cancer awareness" game did affect me... just not in the way the people who designed the game wanted me to be affected.

What could have been...

I haven't been able to write a post lately. I started a few drafts, but haven't been able to finish them.

It's not that I've been too busy. Quite the contrary, I'm currently on bed rest for my subsequent pregnancy. I'm 31 weeks today thanks to a cerclage placed at 12 weeks and bed rest since 24 weeks. I thought I'd be able to catch up with blogging because of my situation, but I have been having a hard time thinking about Lily.

I should correct that.  It's not so much thinking about her as it is thinking about the circumstances of her death. At 24 weeks in this pregnancy, my cervix started to shorten and there was funneling. Since then we continue to see the same changes that were present in the weeks leading up to Lily's birth/death. Only this time, we've been able to keep our baby safe. We may actually bring this one home.

And as exciting as that is, it breaks my heart at the same time. It seems like this was a simple fix. Tie that baby in there and lay down for a while. Is that all we needed to do?

The worst part though is the guilt I still feel for Lily's premature delivery. I'm so careful now. I pay attention to every pain or stretch I feel. I haven't exercised since I found out about this little one. We haven't taken any trips or vacations. I've missed family birthday parties, showers, reunions, and my grandma's 90th birthday celebration. I take every precaution I can.

I didn't do that with Lily. Three days before she was born I walked all over the capitol square going to different events for work and the bar association. The pains I felt the day before she was born, I attributed to constipation and gas pains, even when they came regularly. When I finally thought about Braxton Hicks contractions, and looked them up to see if that's what was happening, it didn't seem to fit. It just didn't seem possible that I would go into labor at that stage. I ignored it and went to a movie with my mom and sister.

Now whenever my uterus tightens at all, I'm ready to call the doctor and be seen. Outside of my weekly appointments, I go into the doctor's office for a lot of "it's nothing" situations. Luckily, my doctor has been very supportive and willingly checks into any anxiety driven calls by giving me extra appointments.

I'm so proactive in my pregnancy care now. My doctor jokes that being a ob/gyn is my hobby now.

But I wasn't like that with Lily. I wonder what it would be like if I had been. I wish I would have been. What'd if I had pushed for a cerclage at 18 weeks? What if I'd called the doctor the moment I started feeling uncomfortable? Would they have been able to stop the labor? Would we have been able to hang onto her to the point of viability?  Even longer? Would she be here in the fall to welcome home her sibling?

I just feel like I was so stupid while pregnant with Lily. I sometimes feel like I didn't take it seriously enough. And she suffered for it.

I wish I would have known.

Father's Day

When my husband and I started dating one of the things that attracted me to him the most was the way he was with children. He spent a lot of family events playing with his younger cousins or my nieces and nephews. I always thought he'd be a terrific father.

One of my greatest struggles through the loss of Lily is dealing with the guilt. I have a draft post on guilt but it's heartwrenching to write so it's taking a while. A big part of the guilt I feel revolves around my husband. I feel like I robbed him of the chance of being a dad.

He brought up having kids about two days after our wedding. It was so incredibly cute to hear him talk about having babies right away, but we just got married. I told him maybe we should get used to that first! We agreed to wait a while. Lily had other plans though. Two and a half months after our wedding, we found ourselves expecting our first child.

My husband was so incredibly excited. After our first ultrasound at about 9 weeks, he immediately framed the picture of the baby, which of course looked like a blob. We didn't even have our wedding pictures framed! But he took a heart frame we received as a gift and put the ultrasound pictures in it. Every night he'd ask when the baby could play t-ball. When would we sign him/her up for Little League? Anytime I complained about my uterus stretching or pulling or just generally feeling huge one day, he'd just smile, rub my stomach and say "it's his house."

The day Lily was born, and we knew she wouldn't survive, my husband didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He wouldn't leave the room. I'd never seen him so nervous and upset. With every contraction I had or push I would need to do, he'd wince and put his head down and try to hold back his tears. I found myself comforting him that day.

Seeing him in pain that day and the days that followed was unbearable. While at times it seemed like he was adjusting to life without our daughter and that he was healing faster than I was, I could always tell when he was having a hard time. Lily's baby blanket would move. Lily's picture - still in the heart frame he'd picked out for her - would be at the edge of our nightstand instead of in the middle. Sometimes when he was drifting off to sleep at night or just barely awake in the morning, he'd mumble Lily's name. It broke my heart. It still does.

I tend to think his heartbreak is my fault. I know deep down it's not, but I can't stop thinking this way sometimes. I feel like he married a defective woman. Maybe he should have gotten all the facts before committing to me. That whole "check under the hood before you buy" thing. I should have been able to fully disclose the situation. I should have known my uterus was abnormal. I should have been able to warn him. I should have figured out this incompetent cervix thing before we got pregnant and taken all steps necessary to keep his child safe.

My body didn't just fail me that day.  It failed him.

I feel like if he'd married someone else he would have been spared all this. He could have a child by now. He could be a father already - maybe to even more than one. He could have celebrated Father's Day the way "real" dads do. He wouldn't have had to endure the awful pain of losing a baby. He wouldn't have to worry we may lose another. He wouldn't have to wonder if he will ever have a baby at home. All of this wouldn't be an issue - if only he hadn't married me - the defective wife.

I've apologized to him on numerous occasions over the last year. I've told him how I feel guilty and responsible for his heartache. I've told him "if you'd married someone else..." His usual response? "But then I wouldn't have Lily."

That response makes me smile. It proves to me how wonderful he truly is. It reminds me why I love him and just how much I do.

My husband is a great father. I just hope one day we can bring a baby home.

Lily's Urn

After Lily's death, my husband and I decided to have her cremated. We'd never really thought about death before. We were not sure what we wanted done with our bodies after our deaths! We didn't have plots in a cemetery and I wasn't certain I wanted to pick something out for Lily especially if we were to move at some point. Mainly though, I didn't want her to be alone.

So we had her cremated. People told us we could spread her ashes somewhere special. Perhaps the park where we got married? But really, I didn't want to do that. I wasn't ready for her to be anywhere but with me. I'm still not.

Her urn has occupied a spot on our nightstand ever since. She's cradled by a bear the hospital gave us and her baby blanket is nearby (that is when the blanket's not cuddled up with us while we're sleeping).

Her cremains were originally in this horrible plastic box the funeral home supplied. The funeral home told us that they would give us a temporary plastic urn. What we actually received was an awful plastic box with a sticker on it with her name. It resembled a box used for holding evidence in a crime rather than an urn for a sweet baby gone too soon. Eventually, after months of trying to find the "perfect" urn for Lily, my dad and stepmom gave us one we could use "temporarily" until we found something we liked. It is a small box that is adorned with a cross and the quote "Those we have held in our arms awhile, we'll hold in our hearts forever." We decided we would use it permanently.

When we leave our house - even for a night - I always feel the need to either bring her urn with us or keep it in the fireproof safe. It seems strange locking her in a safe, but I would feel worse if the house burned down and we lost her again. This also goes for tornadoes. Whenever there's severe weather I tell my husband "we have to make sure to grab Lily before heading to the basement."

Well, last night we had severe weather (today the weather service confirmed it was a tornado). Suddenly it started raining and the wind was incredibly strong. We looked out the window to see the trees bending in ways they shouldn't and rain coming down in circles. My husband, who normally goes outside in severe weather to "check it out," even agreed we should go to the basement. Within a few seconds the tornado sirens went off. Without words we both ran upstairs first - I grabbed Lily and her bear and my husband grabbed her baby blanket. On our way down to the basement I also picked up her memory box.

Settling into the basement, I went to set her things down and my hands were very full. Lily's urn slipped and fell onto the cement floor. The edges of her box chipped off. The chipped corners cannot be fixed. The pieces shattered so not even glue will help.

I felt awful.

I always feel I "can't keep anything nice." New clothes get stained or torn; shoes get scuffed too quickly; straps of purses always break on me; books get dirty; my cell phone gets scratched; iPod gets dropped; you name it, I seem to ruin it quickly. But I've always been so careful with anything associated with Lily. I want all of it to be perfect. Despite that, I still managed to ruin something of hers. And not just anything... her urn. Her final resting place.

I'm so mad at myself.

My husband had gone back upstairs for the radio so I had to tell him I dropped the urn when he came back. I started crying and he told me it was okay and wasn't that bad. The bear covers the badly chipped corners when he cradles the urn. I guess you can't really tell. But I know they're there. Of course, the couple of chipped corners it has now are better than it being completely smashed in a tornado.

But still, I'm sad it's ruined. I'm angry with myself for not taking better care of her! There's so little we have of her. I wanted it all to stay perfect.

Memorial Day

Today we attended a memorial bench dedication at Vilas Park in Madison. Lily's name was added to one of the memorial benches by the playground. I've had this romantic idea that one day we'll be able to take our kids to Vilas and sit on her bench while our kids play. It'll be a nice family outing with everyone present in some way.

During the bench dedication ceremony, one of the speakers mentioned that after you make it through that first tough year without your child, the realization sets in that you have to get through another year without your child. That's where we're at now. It's been a year since Lily died. We've made it through all the "firsts." First holidays, her first birthday. It should be getting easier right? Some days it is. But other days it's not and honestly I'm exhausted from this grief. The thought of going through another year of this is too much. I just want the sadness to be over.

And I would not have guessed that Memorial Day would be a hard day for me. We already got through our first Memorial Day without Lily and it didn't seem that bad. Granted I don't remember that weekend last year so much. I remember playing with my nephew at Brat Fest but the rest of the weekend is a blank. In reality all of May last year I was just in a fog ... as I was most of the summer.

Today was hard. The memorial bench dedication ceremony was nice and it was great to be with people who truly "get it." Yet at the same time, we were surrounded by families at the park. Children playing everywhere. We've sheltered ourselves from seeing parents with their children at holidays. We've basically spent the last year hiding from the world on holidays. It's still not easy seeing families picnic and children playing. I just wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and stay there.  All of this still even after a year's gone by.

It's also a difficult day because my niece was born today. My mom texted just before the ceremony started to tell me that my sister-in-law was in full labor and it wouldn't be long now. And it wasn't. By the end of the ceremony, a new little girl was born into the world.

It makes me sound awful I'm sure, but I'm so sad, bitter and angry. I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't feel like meeting her this week. I don't want to have to talk to my brother and sister-in-law at all. I don't even want to see her pictures posted on Facebook. I feel like the worst aunt ever. And it's so hard because I've always loved being an aunt. I probably take more pictures of my nieces and nephews than their parents do.  When my brother's first son was born two years ago, I was at the hospital right away. I cried when I met him.

Today I'm crying but not tears of joy. I just keep wondering why did Lily die? Why didn't she make it? Why do some parents get to see their kids grow up when I never got to know mine? Why are the only things I get to do for her are memorial services or walks in her memory or other things in her honor? Why doesn't she get big announcements of her birth, birthday parties, and pictures plastered all over the place with everyone commenting on how beautiful she is? Why did she have to die?

I know I'm never going to have the answers to these questions. Not that I'd be satisfied with Lily's death if there were answers. But I wish I could stop asking these questions. I wish my whole life wasn't going to be spent trying to resolve this.

Love at First Sight

A year ago today, I began believing in "love at first sight." We loved Lily from the moment we found out we were pregnant with her. After her first ultrasound at 8 weeks, my husband put her pictures in a heart frame we got for our wedding. But it wasn't until she was put on my chest and I saw her perfect little face, that I really knew how deep my love for her was. It was overwhelming. She was exactly who we were waiting for.  Exactly whom we wanted to meet.

She was born at 9:30pm.  She weighed 12 ounces and was 10 inches long. She looked like her daddy. She had his nose and his mouth. And his head. I tease my husband now that it's a good thing he's losing his hair because we'll always know what Lily's head looked like. She also had big feet, most likely just like mine. She was the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen. Everything about her was perfect.

I woke up this morning and for a brief second I forgot how sad I've been the last week. Then I remembered, and burst into tears. Just like the days after she died, when I'd wake up and think it was all a dream. I wasn't sure how I'd make it through the day.

Then I started seeing signs from my little girl. I logged onto Facebook and saw that CarlyMarie, who does the Names in the Sand photographs, had posted a random picture she took last night. The beach she takes the images at was full of people and it was hard for her to get pictures without people. The photo she posted had Lily's name in it. It wasn't for our Lily of course, but I was happy to see it.

Later I got an e-mail from my little brother. He told me he didn't realize Lily and the author of Mr. Happy had the same birthday. Another sign! My little brother and I used to read the Mr Men and Little Miss books when we were kids and I read them to Lily when I was pregnant.

It was very comforting. She's here with us in some way.

Happy 1st Birthday lil' girl. We love you and miss you every day.

Mother's Day

Last year on Mother's Day, I was lying in a hospital bed begging my baby to hang on. I didn't want her to be born on Mother's Day... knowing she wouldn't be born alive. I didn't want her death associated with Mother's Day forever.

Today was rough. I expected it to be sad. I didn't expect crying for hours this morning. I was having panic attacks similar to ones I had immediately after Lily's death. I sobbed, could barely breathe, and couldn't stand. It physically hurt. These waves of overwhelming sadness continued the entire day. I didn't get out of my pajamas until after 7pm.

My husband has final exams this week, and, in fact, had an exam at 7:45am this morning. So I didn't expect that he would do anything special for today. It was still hard to not do anything. I felt disappointed. I made myself breakfast. I bought myself a nice dinner. I watched whatever I wanted to on television. I hid out from the rest of the world. It was a very lonely day.

Then again, I don't know if I'm worthy of any big celebration. I'm still having a hard time grasping the fact that I am a mother. I don't have any children at home. I gave birth to a child that didn't live outside of me. She was only with me for five months. But I did go through labor. I held my baby. I have pictures of her. She happened. I remember practically every moment of it. But do I deserve a day to celebrate my motherhood? I feel like I failed at the motherhood part...

And then someone surprises you...

My last post outlined my fear about people forgetting ... and this week I had someone surprise me by remembering. My sister-in-law asked me last night for a picture of her niece. I can't tell you how great that made me feel. She wants a picture of Lily. It means so much to me. I cried - tears of joy!

Then this morning she posted on Facebook about feeling sad about the upcoming anniversaries of the deaths of her Grandma and the niece she never got to meet. Again, it gave me some sense of comfort. I'm not alone in my grief. Lily's death didn't just affect me and my husband. Others in our family are still grieving too. It makes me feel less alone. At the same time I feel happy because Lily's short life meant something. She had an impact on more than just her parents.

Today, it all feels real again. Lily existed. Her life happened. She had an effect on her family's lives. She's deeply missed. And knowing that is making me smile.

Fearing the Day People Forget

It is getting closer and closer to May 9th, Lily's birth day and her death date. I find myself in tears as I write this (at a Subway during lunch)! I'm terrified that after her birthday - the first anniversary of her death - that she will cease to exist in the memory of others. I fear that's it for her. Lily will be in the history books.

She probably already has been forgotten by some. I guess that's to be expected. I know we will never forget her. She will always be a part of Mike and me. But what about the rest of my family? What about our friends?

We're walking in the March for Babies over Mother's Day weekend this year. This walk is also scheduled two days before Lily's birthday. I've been recruiting walkers and fundraising like crazy. I've lost any fear about asking people for money. I thought this event would be a good way to do something for her over her first birthday. Something positive rather than hiding under my covers in bed with a lot of chocolate.

Recently, though, someone very close to me told me they may not make it to the walk. It's Mother's Day weekend after all. I think this person just forgot what this weekend means. Lily was born on Mother's Day. That's why we're walking that weekend. I'm not hurt that they're not coming to the walk. I'm hurt that they apparently forgot the significance of the date.

And I fear that this is just the beginning. Eventually, after we have other children, I'm worried she'll mean nothing.

Another family member told us that in the future Mother's Day won't suck for us. We'll be happier when we have other children. It'll be happier when those children are cooking me breakfast and bringing me flowers for the day. While that may be true, I just feel the day will then just become bittersweet. 

May 9, 2011, just feels like a deadline of some sort. The day an entire year has gone by. After that, there's no need to grieve anymore. No need to bring Lily up anymore. That chapter in our lives is over. At least this is what I feel and fear others will think.

Sure enough, May 9th won't change our broken hearts any. I know too that others take their cues from us. Some don't, though, and will expect you to "move on now." Some people will still surprise us with their memories, I'm sure.

I just know I'm not ready for Lily to be a chapter in our family history.

A side note: As I was writing this and eating my lunch, the song "I Say a Little Prayer" came on. This was a song that was running through my head the night we lost Lily.  Particularly this verse:

Forever, forever you'll stay in my heart
and I will love you
Forever, forever we never will part
Oh, how I'll love you
Together, together that's how it must be
To live without you
Will only be heartbreak for me

A day in March...

Written on March 17, 2011

Last year on March 19, 2010, the Badgers played the first round of the NCAA tournament, and I was scheduled for an ultrasound at 12 weeks. As I'm waiting for the Badgers to play tonight and for my husband to finish our big Irish dinner, I can't help but think back on that ultrasound a year ago.

It was an optional ultrasound - to measure the neck to assess risk for Down syndrome. The results wouldn't matter to us, we were eager to see our lil' one again, and given that our insurance covered it, we opted to take the screen.

Most of our ultrasounds took only 15 minutes at the most. Not this one. This one was 45 minutes. Our lil' girl was in the wrong position for the tech to measure her neck and she was in a deep sleep. We had to wake her up. The tech poked and prodded my stomach trying to wake Lily. Then I had to roll on my side and back. Then they asked me to walk around the office and jump. Lily would not wake up. She even had her little hand up by her forehead. She was completely zonked out. So then the tech asked me "Coke or Diet Coke?" I had been refraining from soda and caffeine so I was shocked she asked that. She said it would work so I took a Diet Coke. She told me to drink half of it and she'd be back in 15 minutes.

I started to worry we were going to miss the game! But at the same time we were having fun and enjoying the extended ultrasound time!

Once the tech came back, Lily was awake and moving around. It was also kind of funny because she was still not in the right position. A few more times of rolling back and forth and jumping up and down, and she finally was positioned correctly.

The 12 week ultrasound is one of our favorite memories from the pregnancy. The pictures are some of the best we have of her. It's a memory that always makes me smile.

Why?????

One of my best friends is a fellow BLM. She lost her first child at 16 weeks.  A boy named Alexander. She miscarried after that.  A blighted ovum. She gave birth prematurely to a beautiful little boy, Christopher, in December 2009. Unfortunately, he was born with a lot of problems. He died in February 2010.

Now, after months of trying, she found out she was pregnant this February. Given her history, she was seeing the doctors almost every week since and had multiple ultrasounds. Last week, they saw a heartbeat! She was elated. But the heartbeat wasn't as strong as it should have been so they wanted to see her again this week. Today, she got the worst news ever. There's no heartbeat. The baby's gone.

It makes me so mad. She's a beautiful person who'd be a fabulous mother. I just don't understand why this would keep happening. What makes her unworthy?

I'm so upset. I'm hoping Lily's giving big hugs to Christopher tonight.

I want to hold my baby

After Lily's death I read a lot of books about pregnancy and infant loss. A common feeling described in those books was one of "aching arms."  Moms ache to hold their baby. I never felt that way. I'm not sure why. I don't know if it's because Lily was so small that I couldn't really cradle her in my arms. She pretty much fit in the palm of my hand. I remember holding her there.  I remember the weight of her body in my hand. If she wasn't in my hands, I had her wrapped in her blanket on my knees. Maybe that's why I never had this ache to hold her. I thought it was just something I would never feel.

Until today. This morning I woke up with a strong desire to hold Lily. To snuggle her into my chest. I wanted to cradle her in my arms and rock her to sleep.

It is just unfair. My only option is to hold her urn. I just want her back.

Year of the Rabbit

This was written at the beginning of February...

On February 3rd, the Chinese rang in a new year - the Year of the Rabbit. I've never paid much attention to the Chinese new year or the Chinese zodiac, other than the passing news story or perusing the place mats at Chinese restaurants. But this year - the Year of the Rabbit - caught my eye for several reasons.

While I was pregnant with Lily, I saw a little bunny outside my office practically every day. When I would leave work, the bunny would scurry off the porch. Our building is a converted 19th Century house. As I walked down the steps I would see the bunny scramble to safety under or near my car. He would dash out from my car just as I got closer and disappear behind the neighboring apartment building. The first time I saw him, he scared me just as much as I scared him. But soon after I would get excited to see him.  In my "everything is perfect" pregnancy haze, the bunny was another thing to look forward to. A sign of a happy spring.

Our spring wasn't happy. We lost Lily on May 9th. After I returned to work after her death, I never saw the bunny again. It's possible my haze of grief shielded me from seeing him. But I really don't recall seeing him at all over the summer.

He resurfaced in the winter. One day in December, as I was leaving work, a much older, bigger rabbit hopped calmly away as I opened the door and stepped onto the porch. He hopped over to the snowbank piled high in front of my car. I fully expected him to scurry away when I opened and shut the car door, and certainly when I started the engine, but he didn't. He watched as I pulled out and when I looked back at him, he had propped himself up on his hind legs and watched me as I disappeared out of the driveway.

About three days later, being the wonderfully domestic wife I am, I ordered Chinese take-out for our dinner. It is typical for our favorite Chinese restaurant to include a new calendar with every order in December. Usually though we throw it out because it includes pictures of scantily clad Asian women. To our surprise the 2011 calendar was one designed for the Year of the Rabbit. Several animated bunnies comprise the artwork for this year's calendar.

Surely, these were good signs! First, the office bunny re-appears.  Second, 2011 is the Year of the Rabbit. Rabbits are the sign of fertility. They symbolize spring and rebirth. They seem to be a sign of hope. If 2011 was dubbed Year of the Rabbit, then it must mean good things for me.

Here's hoping....

Focus on the Positive... UGH.

"Be more positive" is commonly told to me these days. In emails, calls, and face-to-face conversations, everyone is encouraging me to focus on the good things in my life. "You have a great husband."  They remind me of my opportunity for a fresh start. "It's a new year, a new beginning, so focus on the positive."

Don't they realize I would if I could? I don't want to be this person I've become recently. I don't want to be bitter and angry. I don't want to wake up sad. I don't want to feel intensely jealous of pregnant women. I don't want my immediate reaction to someone telling me they're expecting to be tears. I don't want my heart to sink every time someone gushes about their child. I don't want to think "blah" when a parent expresses their joy about parenting.

I don't want to be a woman whose baby died.

I don't want to worry that Lily could have been my only chance at having a daughter. I don't want to fear she could be my only shot at having a child.

I don't want to feel this way. Not at all.

I'd much rather feel excitement for the future. I'd rather feel joy in seeing babies and small children. I'd rather laugh with them. I'd much rather be the girl who is having everything fall perfectly into place. More importantly, even if it was not, I'd like to be able to feel optimistic for the future.  I'd like to have the ability to hope for the best.

But I can't.  Not right now.

I have no control over my emotions these days. I can have a good day quashed by a simple memory of Lily's death. I can be walking happily along and stop dead in my tracks when I overhear a child say "Mommy." A joyful look through Lily's pictures can turn into a flood of tears in an instant when I suddenly remember I never looked at her back. Panic can set in when a fun discussion with other BLMs about our children reveals I didn't memorize every detail of her (even though I tried!) and can't remember every moment of my pregnancy with her.

I can't make myself focus on the positive. It's exhausting enough to get through the day. "It's only been 8 months!" I want to scream. In the aftermath of this trauma and loss, I think I've earned the right to feel a tad negative. Not forever. Just for now at least.